"I agree. He ought to have been handled more firmly."
"Bow-wow furnishes a good example of a lath painted to look like iron. I should like to have seen him face to face with Cunningham, or old Tottie Turnbull. There would have been trouble for one."
"For m'lud, I'll lay a pony. This young sportsman is quite above the ordinary. He is going a very long way."
"It is too early to say. We see so many geese with the plumage of the swan in this profession."
"Name! name!" cried the table.
"I expect when it is all reckoned up," said Jumbo, when order had been restored, "my young pal, Jem Smith, is the son of 'Pot' Northcote who went the northern circuit for years."
"If that is so, Jum, he is already a better man than his father. Pot died a recorder."
"I hope the young un will open his mug for an hour this afternoon. He's got the finest mask on him for a young un I ever saw."
"Weekes might easily have to play jack-in-the-box all the afternoon."
"In that case poor old Bow-wow will have to do a frightful amount of scratching at his leg."
"But the case is too dead to be worth it."
"That won't matter to James. He threw down his gage this morning. The jury will have to sit tight and hold on to the handle going round the curves, or he'll have them in a hat before he's done with them. And I've seen Bow-wow crumple up before now."
"So have we all."
